


Wild Flowers and Juniper Berries

by milk_pie



Series: So very soft, my love [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Cute, Fluff, Geralt is in love, Geralt’s heightened Witcher smell then, M/M, Scent Kink, Sharing Clothes, all I write is fluff I guess, but it’s not really kink bc it’s very pg, but there is still some bc it’s me, geralt’s pov, i didn’t do as much poetic rambling bc, jaskier is soft, no beta we die like men, no hurt really just comfort, they’re both adorable and going to kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk_pie/pseuds/milk_pie
Summary: Jaskier manages to get all of his clothes wet. Geralt doesn’t like watching him be so uncomfortable (even if he won’t admit it), so he tries to help. Jaskier is thankful and Geralt is a secret softy.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: So very soft, my love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628380
Comments: 43
Kudos: 710





	Wild Flowers and Juniper Berries

**Author's Note:**

> Another soft story but this time from Geralt’s POV! Again inspired by a piece of craftgamerzz art on their tumblr (they are extremely talented!!), so please go check it out! (https://craftgamerzz.tumblr.com/post/190715081301/hmm) I kind of just wrote this as quickly as I could and posted it so keep that in mind I suppose. Enjoy!

Jaskier liked to complain about _very_ minor inconveniences _very_ grandly. As well as very, _very_ long-windedly. Geralt would’ve tried to find it in himself to be annoyed but he really just felt tired (and maybe a little bit bad, but only Roach would hear about that). After all, it wasn’t Jaskier’s fault that the heavens decided to poor down their malcontent in a rather short lived and fast paced thunder storm. Geralt’s bags were, of course, waterproof, but Jaskier’s not so much. Not only were the clothes on his back completely soaked through but he “didn’t even have anything dry to change into, _Geralt_!” 

Still, the rain had stopped a few miles back, and a small flat space near the bank of a tiny crick was as good a campsite as they were likely to find that evening. A fire was soon spitting tiny comets of red into the yawning sky, and Jaskier had begun to begrudgingly but almost quietly lay his damp items out in the heat. There was some vague grouching, huffing and puffing and the like, but Geralt managed to go about settling down for the night with little interruption. Roach was given a good currying (she snorted her thanks as Geralt scratched her ears afterwards), some provisions from the previous town were brought out for dinner (dried meats unwrapped, stale bread sat near the fire to warm), and bed rolls were rolled out (Geralt even took the time to shake out the dirt, as they desperately needed it). The Witcher looked about contently at his handiwork, a small, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he caught sight of Jaskier.

The bard looked, well, _pitiful_. He had stripped down to his barest undershirt and trousers, everything else spread out to dry. His shirt was still wet, the fabric sticking to his skin, and he shivered as a breeze came up from the nearby water. He was also oddly silent, Geralt wasn’t sure when Jaskier had stopped complaining but now the quiet was absolutely deafening. The Witcher was perplexed, and a little concerned. Maybe humans didn’t react well to being wet? Like cats? Though Jaskier’s constant insistence on bathing whenever they rented a room at an inn would attest otherwise. Maybe it was the outdoor setting with no access to a warm inn? Geralt himself could go for days trudging through swampland up to his knees, but maybe humans were softer in that regard.

“Jaskier.” The bard looked up with an expression of surprise to match Geralt’s own. What could he even say? “I’m… sorry, about the weather.” 

Jaskier’s face split into such a genuine grin that Geralt had to look away or risk being overwhelmed by the sincerity of it. If his heart rate picked up a little he was the only one to hear it anyway. 

“Why Geralt, who knew you could be so caring!” The amusement was thick on Jaskier’s tongue, and he looked like one of the mischievous cherubs in the corner of a cathedral mural. Geralt scowled and stalked over to pick up the loaf of bread by the fire and tear it in half. He awkwardly handed Jaskier a piece before sitting on top of his bed roll and tucking into a silent dinner. 

Jaskier almost seemed content to do the same, humming to himself as they ate, but he wouldn’t stop _fidgeting_. Incessant shifting and rocking and adjusting where he sat until finally Geralt couldn’t stand it a second longer.

“What are you doing?” The Witcher sounded stern in a way he didn’t quite intend. Jaskier froze in place.

“Eating… dinner?” Geralt wondered how he’d managed to keep Jaskier from getting killed for this long. 

“I mean why won’t you sit still?” Jaskier’s eyes were suddenly downcast as he started to nervously pick at the crust of his bread.

“It’s nothing really,” he mumbled extremely unconvincingly. The fire popped and crackled between them. Geralt knew he was staring but sometimes it was the best way to get Jaskier to cough up the truth. If the way Jaskier squirmed under the attention was any indication it seemed to be working. “Alright, fine, it’s just… this shirt is really uncomfortable, okay?” He looked up to meet Geralt’s eyes and he looked utterly petulant. Apparently it didn’t stop there. “It’s cold and sticking and dirt is getting on it and I can’t _do_ anything about it because everything else is wet!” The bard turned his attention back to his bread so he could focus on tearing it into tiny pieces with restless hands. 

Geralt leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Hm. Actually, let’s put that thought out there. “Hmm.” Jaskier made an almost amused sounding huff then. He was still fidgeting. Geralt stood suddenly and walked over to one of his bags, Jaskier watched him from across the fire. The Witcher returned a moment later and held out a black bundle to the bard, who hesitantly accepted the offering. It was, a shirt?

“Geralt, is this one of _your_ shirts?” His tone was incredulous and his face was dumbfounded. Geralt sat back on his bed roll and set about shoving a large amount of dried meat into his mouth to avoid conversation. 

Jaskier kept staring, before finally fumbling to pull off his own damp chemise and tug Geralt’s black tunic over his head. It was absolutely too big and almost hung off one shoulder, the sleeves alone completely engulfing his hands, but Jaskier seemed very pleased. 

“Oh, this is _so_ much more comfortable, thank goodness,” he sighed as he leaned back on his hands and rolled his neck to the side to crack it. 

Geralt found he suddenly could not take his eyes off the exposed view of Jaskier’s collarbones and chest. He swallowed his food and tipped his head up to watch the stars begin to poke into view as the moon rose to greet them. Another gust of wind washed over them and suddenly all Geralt could smell was _Jaskier_ — Juniper berry and wild flowers and Jaskier’s warm human musk blanketed in Geralt’s own scent. It made the White Wolf’s head spin and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you alright, Geralt?” Oh gods guide him he sounded so tender and innocent.

“Of course, are you done eating? We want to get to sleep so we can ride out early tomorrow.” Geralt began shifting about to settle into his bed roll while Jaskier watched him with thoughtful eyes. ”We need a job soon or we won’t have any nice inn visits for a while.” 

Jaskier smiled again, just as breath-stopping as before. “‘We?’ I thought it was just _you_ and _I_ was an obnoxious tag along?” The bard’s voice danced playfully. Geralt grunted and turned away from him, attempting to urge Jaskier to go to bed while also trying to get the intoxicating smell of the poet wrapped up in his clothes out of his nose. 

“Sleep, Jaskier.” Jaskier’s answering laughter did funny warm things to Geralt’s heart. 

  
  


The next morning, as they packed up their campsite and Jaskier repacked his now thankfully dry belongs, the bard offered Geralt back his shirt. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier was saying. “For letting me borrow it. It made my sleep all the more restful to have something dry on.” He wore a cheery smile, and a faint blush sat high on his cheekbones. 

Geralt brought his hands up for a moment, he could smell the mix of _juniper_ and _warm_ and suddenly pushed the offered item back into Jaskier’s chest. “Keep it,” he mumbled in a gravely tone. “It smells like you now anyway.” The Witcher turned back to continue tacking up Roach for the day’s ride. 

“Is that a bad thing or something?!” Jaskier spluttered, looking utterly put out as he continued to clutch the shirt close to him. 

“We better get moving, I think I see storm clouds coming up behind us,” Geralt called as he mounted Roach’s saddle and started her off back towards the main path they’d been following the day before. 

“Shit, alright coming,” Jaskier huffed as he shoulder his lute and kept a grip on Geralt’s (his?) shirt as he followed after the Witcher. 

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer! Bother me on tumblr @ thriftstoreboy and thank you again for all the support on my last story! If you have any prompt suggestions I’d love to hear them! <3


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